


This ends up being all for naught, you know.

by LollyHolly99



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Drinking, Love Confessions, M/M, Other, Pre-Apocalypse, angst? is there angst here?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-07 15:24:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20819543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LollyHolly99/pseuds/LollyHolly99
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley are drunk as skunks. Words get said.





	This ends up being all for naught, you know.

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes the inspiration stick slaps you on the ass and you shift into High Gear Writing Mode and bang out something like this real fast  
it could've blessed me with being able to continue to like the results too tho lmao  
in any case! hope y'all enjoy it <3

"Angel," Crowley slurs, in his drunken disarray, slouching in Aziraphale's direction on the sofa they're sharing. "You wanna know something?"

The two of them have been drinking far too much tonight. The alcohol, combined with their reminiscing on all of history together over the course of the evening, has brought up too many emotions for Crowley to quash for the millionth time.

"Hmm?" Aziraphale barely even thinks to question the derailing of their conversation, and looks at the demon with a curious, ditzy expression.

"Eden." Crowley simply says. There's a beat before he elaborates. "It was... was aaaall the way back there. Back then. In the garden, on- on top of the wall."

Aziraphale's wine-cloudy mind tries its best to recall that instance. "When... when we met?"

"Yeah," Crowley sips at his glass. "But... it was... 's more than that. Just meeting eachother."

"Oh?"

A more sober Crowley would be yelling at himself to shut the fuck up right about now, trying to kick some sense into him. A more sober Aziraphale might see something coming that he's not prepared to handle and put a stop to it. But sober Crowley and Aziraphale aren't here right now, just their ridiculously drunk selves, unrestrained from sense and oblivious to what'll follow.

"Tha's when... 's when I fell 'n love with you, y'know."

If sober Crowley could see himself right now...

The words take a minute for Aziraphale to process, then his eyes blow wide open. "O-oh..."

Crowley leans on Aziraphale's shoulder - who stiffens at the contact - uninhibited, too stupidly drunk to hold back. "I love you. Really do. Been so scared to say it but... but I can't... I can't keep it quiet any longer. Six mil- m- millem- all those fucking years, 'm tired of it, 'ziraphale."

"You..." Words elude the angel, who can only bring himself to stare into the deep red liquid in his glass.

"From the beginning. You're 'mazing. Can't get enough of you."

"I- I..."

"'Zira..."

Aziraphale tears his gaze away from the wine at that call for attention. He finds himself lost immediately in those yellow eyes, eyes that are so soft and intense and focused and dizzy all at the same time. He can't remember how to say words anymore.

"I know... you're not s'posed to... 'm sure you won't mean it, y'don't have to..." Crowley continues. "...but can I jus' ask you to - whether 's true or not - "

Aziraphale doesn't need a physical heart, but he feels it going a mile a minute within the chest of his corporeal body, and his head swirls with more than just the alcohol in his system.

"Please," Crowley begs. "Tell me y'love me too. Just once, doesn't have to be true, I just need to hear it."

Aziraphale gulps hard. His mouth feels dry, empty, so he takes another large swig of wine to prepare himself to speak.

"Of course I love you, my dear boy." he says, ceasing to look his friend in the eye. "I'm an angel, we- we're... beings of love. And... just like all of God's creations... I cannot help but love you."

"No," the demon protests. "No, pl- please. Without the clarification. The 'God's creations' bollocks. Please."

Aziraphale grips his glass tighter, anxious.

"I can't." he worries aloud. "I can't, I can't, what- what if-"

"Nothin's gonna happen, angel."

He frowns. "...You don't know that."

"Aziraphale," Crowley guides Aziraphale's head to look back towards him with an uncoordinated, gentle hand. "I wouldn't ask you t'do anything that'd get you into trouble like that. One little white lie, 's all I want."

His hand leaves Aziraphale's face and travels elsewhere, resting atop one of the angel's own hands.

"...They can't punish you if y'don't mean it."

_...Which implies that they can if he does._

"I _can't_." Aziraphale repeats at the thought of that theory, feeling like a broken record. "I'm sorry."

"Tha's if they're even payin' attention right now," Crowley continues, still persistent. "What're they gonna get out of an angel drunk off 'is arse, eh? Whadda they think they'll find? Nothin', tha's what. They're not listening."

"Y-you can... never be too sure..."

As soon as - if - it falls from his lips, he worries, it'll all go down. And it won't go down well.

"Please..." Crowley pleads with him one final time, defeat oh so present in his voice.

Aziraphale takes one more look at Crowley through hazy eyes. The demon's own eyes are wet and tinged with pain, and drunkenly, desperately, bore into his soft blue ones.

He can't stand what he sees.

Crowley's done so much for him over the years, so many things here and there, big and small. From saving him from discorporation, to treating him to meals, to keeping his earthly possessions safe. He can afford giving this one thing back to him, he thinks.

And then he breaks.

"Crowley," he says, taking a number of deep breaths to steel himself. "I love you. I _have_ loved you."

Crowley's lightheaded enough to take the statements at face value, and can't believe his ears when he hears the sincerity in the angel's voice.

"Th- the church," Aziraphale continues to confess. "Ohh, the church... Nineteen forty... forty something..." He murmurs to himself for a second, figuring out the year. "...Forty one, I think, y-yes... I... I hadn't realised it before then, but... the books, dear, the books, how- how could I not know after that?"

A thoughtful look paints Crowley's face. "With the... those nazis..."

"Yes, that night! I was... so quiet during the car ride home because I was co- compre- figuring it all out. How I loved you, how- how bloody long I'd loved you and not seen it, all of it!"

Crowley is silent, dumbstruck.

"Sixty-odd years..." Aziraphale tips his head back and sighs. "_Oh,_ that feels so good to get off my chest at last... I can't begin to imagine six thousand."

"I'd say 's been hell," Crowley finally manages to say. "But at least I'm not stuck down there all the time."

Aziraphale rests his forehead against Crowley's. "Oh, _darling_, I can't be sorry enough. All that time..."

Crowley shakes his head. "No, nah, 's been for the best. You weren't wrong, 's a right scary idea. This is... fuckin' hell, angel, I don't know what t'say..."

"Maybe... let's not say anything. For now."

Aziraphale begins to lean in to press his lips to Crowley's, but reconsiders and stops himself, still too tentative even after the last few minutes. Crowley only realises what he planned on doing when it's too late. He doesn't push, though - he knows he's done enough of that tonight. Their heads are foggy with drunkenness, but they both manage to end up taking pause regardless.

They settle on a tight embrace instead, the other's arms and bodies acting as comfort enough. When they break away at last, tears spill, from both of them, along with soft, disbelieving laughter at the situation. Then they lean on one another, hands finding eachother and holding tight to eachother, determined not to let go.

They sit in silence together for a while, just holding the other, the only sounds ringing out in the room being their contented sighs, until they bring themselves back to talking and drinking and enjoying the evening with their... well, they don't yet question what to call eachother, whether there's something new they have and a new title to call the other, so... their friend.

Joyous laughter and affection fills that room of the bookshop for the entire rest of the evening as they allow themselves to be unrestrained, to give into their decades-old and millennia-old longing. It's exactly what they've waited for, even if they hadn't imagined being so very intoxicated in this moment.

So intoxicated, in fact, that they pass out soon enough, destined to forget the events of the night by tomorrow morning.

**Author's Note:**

> yeah. really not sure how I feel abt this one.........  
almost decided to imply that it Keeps Happening right at that last bit :3c but I just couldn't properly weigh up if it was more painful than the current situation or not
> 
> [come yell with me on tumblr!](https://lollyholly99.tumblr.com/) <3


End file.
